


Put away all I know for tonight

by dragon_temeraire



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, M/M, Making an Effort (Good Omens), Multiple Orgasms, Pining, Virgin Aziraphale (Good Omens), Virgin Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-16 13:31:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20825969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_temeraire/pseuds/dragon_temeraire
Summary: “I imagine it’s hard to getin the moodwhen someone might discorporate you at any moment,” Aziraphale muses. “Which means Hell must be absolutely full of sexual frustration.”“One of the main elements of Hell’s atmosphere,” Crowley agrees.(Or: Aziraphale discovers that Crowley has never had an orgasm, and decides to help out)





	Put away all I know for tonight

**Author's Note:**

> I just really felt like writing some smut, but with neither of them having any real experience. The sex still manages to be (miraculously) good.

Crowley isn’t nearly drunk enough to be having this conversation, but he’s doing it anyway, because he _needs _to know. He glances over at his sunglasses, sitting innocuously on a side table, and decides it would be too telling to put them back on now. “Angel, is it just food? Is that the only human thing you indulge in?”

Aziraphale, probably also not drunk enough, looks at him oddly. “Well, there’s alcohol, of course. And I’m quite fond of the clothing. So many varieties and colors!” he says cheerfully.

“Obviously they’re delightful,” Crowley says dryly, taking a pointed look at his all-black ensemble. “But I was more wondering if you engage in…self-pleasure.”

Aziraphale makes a thoughtful humming sound. “I do love a good bubble bath, or taking in the smell of newly-blossomed flowers. And it should be apparent that I take great pleasure in both collecting and reading books,” he says. “But if you meant masturbation, then yes, I do that too,” he adds casually.

Crowley chokes on nothing, but manages to recover enough to take a fortifying gulp of wine. “You do?”

“I think you’ve surely realized by now that I’m a bit of a hedonist,” Aziraphale says, smiling. “I’ve tried nearly every sort of pleasure this world has to offer.”

“I see,” Crowley says, distractedly setting his glass down before he drops it.

“Do you?” Aziraphale asks curiously. “Engage in self-pleasure, that is.”

“No,” Crowley says, without hesitation. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you_ can’t_?”

“It’s not possible for demons,” he says, shrugging. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“What…happens?” Aziraphale asks, then looks horrified at himself for doing so.

“Nothing,” Crowley says dourly. “Nothing at all.”

“So, you can’t—not by yourself—but what about with someone else?”

“Yes,” Crowley says.

“Then you have?” Aziraphale says, cautiously. “With another demon?”

“No,” Crowley says, though he doesn’t particularly want to admit it. “What you’ve got to remember, angel, is that demons don’t trust each other. At all.”

“I imagine it’s hard to get _in the mood_ when someone might discorporate you at any moment,” Aziraphale muses. “Which means Hell must be absolutely full of sexual frustration.”

“One of the main elements of Hell’s atmosphere,” Crowley agrees.

“And you’ve never,” here Aziraphale hesitates, “had an orgasm? Ever?”

“No,” Crowley says again, rubbing at his face and feeling rather more than frustrated. “I haven’t.”

“Well. Would you like to?”

And even though he absolutely knows it is, he still has to ask. “Is that an invitation?”

Aziraphale smiles at him encouragingly, with a little hint of pink in his cheeks. “If you want it to be,” he says.

And oh, how Crowley does _want_.

*

Aziraphale feels himself fairly trembling with anticipation as they make their way up the stairs to his flat. He’s very much looking forward to introducing Crowley to a new form of pleasure, and to expressing what he feels for Crowley in a different way, whether Crowley realizes it or not.

Aziraphale’s bed gets only occasional use from his forays into self-pleasure—and much of that has, admittedly, been spent thinking about Crowley—so it’s a wonderful treat to actually see Crowley sprawled across it, looking delectable.

He admires the view for a moment, then joins Crowley, covering him with his body. Aziraphale kisses him first, because he believes this sort of thing should have a lead-up. He himself has spent many hours lightly touching his own neck, and chest, and stomach, places he feels Crowley would kiss him if they were in bed together.

Crowley looks surprised by the kiss, but settles softly into it, mouth opening for Azriaphale. Neither of them are particularly skilled, but that doesn’t matter. Aziraphale fumbles at the buttons of Crowley’s shirt as the kiss deepens, and with a snap of Crowley’s fingers, it’s gone completely.

Aziraphale pulls back far enough to frown at him, but Crowley looks so amused—and aroused—that he can’t hold onto it for long. “Let me handle the rest,” he says sternly, then huffs when he sees Crowley’s boots and socks have joined his shirt on the floor.

In retribution, he presses light, tickling kisses to Crowley’s chest and stomach, making him squirm and grin. “All right, all right, the rest is yours,” he says, gesturing to himself. “Angel, are you planning to take any of _your_ clothes off?”

Aziraphale, who is barefooted but otherwise fully clothed, smiles sweetly at Crowley. “Not at the moment, no.”

Then his hands are at the waist of Crowley’s rather tight trousers, unbuttoning them and pulling them down those long, long legs. He’s met with a pleasant, musky smell as he does, and he looks at Crowley in surprise.

“Oh, making an effort, I see,” he says admiringly.

Crowley looks embarrassed. “This is actually what happens when I’m_ not _making an effort. I can change it, if you want?”

“No, my dear, you’re perfect as you are.” He brushes his fingers across Crowley, where he’s hotter than anywhere else, and already damp. Settling himself eagerly down between Crowley’s thighs, he pauses long enough to ask, “May I?”

Crowley, who’d covered his eyes with his arm, moves it enough to look at him. “That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?” he says, and it’s an obvious attempt at bluster, but Aziraphale can hear the nervousness underneath.

“I do hope you’ll like it,” he says, then takes a tentative lick.

The texture of wiry hair against his tongue is strange, and on second attempt he does better, pushing between Crowley’s soft lips and finally, finally getting a taste. It’s good, mild and a little sweet, and Aziraphale finds himself breathing in deep as he maps Crowley with his tongue, keenly exploring.

He loses himself a bit, like he always does when trying something new, but he realizes quickly that the noises Crowley’s making are too good to miss. They’re wonderful, desperate and yearning, and Aziraphale wants more. He moves down just a little, just far enough that he can push his tongue inside, and _oh, _the sound Crowley makes at _that._

He thrusts his tongue inside Crowley, slow and deep, loving the way he shoves up into Aziraphale’s mouth, gasping and needy. Crowley tastes even better here, and Aziraphale would be happy to stay right where he is and taste him forever, but knows it wouldn’t be fair to leave him in suspense that long.

He moves away, replacing his tongue with two fingers, curling them up as he rocks his hand forward. He’s touched himself this way and enjoyed it, so he hopes Crowley will too. Then he returns to licking Crowley, running his tongue across him in short, firm strokes as he speeds the pace of his hand.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says, sounding overwhelmed, his whole body moving and shifting restlessly against him. “Aziraphale, something is _happening_.”

Aziraphale makes an affirmative noise, working his tongue across Crowley just a little bit faster.

Crowley’s noises suddenly turn ragged, breathless, and he bucks up under Aziraphale as he finds his release, clenching around Aziraphale’s fingers in waves.

He keeps moving, though more slowly and gently, to work Crowley through the aftershocks. Then he carefully pulls his fingers free, and begins to kiss and nuzzle Crowley’s thighs, giving him a moment to recover.

“That’s,” Crowley tries, still sounding breathless. And maybe stunned. “I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on _that_ all this time.”

“I think it’s a bit more intense for us than it is for regular humans,” Aziraphale says. He hopes he doesn’t sound too smug. “But it is rather nice, isn’t it?”

“More than _nice_,” Crowley mutters, rubbing his hands across his face.

He doesn’t say anything after that, seeming content to stay right where he is and catch his breath.

But left unsupervised Aziraphale has never been great at resisting temptation, and since he’s still optimally positioned to taste Crowley again…he tilts his head and does just that.

Crowley makes a surprised grunt, but rolls his hips encouragingly.

Aziraphale is just getting into the rhythm, Crowley wonderfully slick against his tongue, when Crowley’s hand slides into his hair and tugs him up.

“Angel,” he says a little breathlessly. “Now I need _you_ to make an effort.”

Aziraphale is momentarily affronted—he is most certainly putting forth a great deal of effort—when Crowley’s actual meaning strikes him. And it’s no trouble at all, because he’s been making an Effort this whole time, and had in actuality been rather helpless to prevent it. The pleasure flooding through his body at being able to touch Crowley, to taste him, had needed to be expressed _somehow_.

It’s also made his trousers uncomfortably tight, and as Aziraphale is rather low on patience right now, with a snap all his clothes are neatly folded somewhere in Crowley’s apartment. Hopefully.

“Is this the sort of Effort you wanted, my dear?” he asks, sitting back on his heels so Crowley can see him.

Crowley’s eyes take a long and languorous path down his body, pupils widening as he clearly likes what he sees.

“You’re perfect, Angel,” he says, and while Aziraphale’s not certain he actually answered the question, he appreciates the sentiment nonetheless.

Crowley opens his arms, beckoning, so Aziraphale settles down on him, gently at first, then relaxing when he realizes Crowley isn’t bothered by his weight. He tips his head down to kiss Crowley, but finds himself distracted by the way he’s now nearly perfectly aligned, pressed up against Crowley’s slick heat.

Crowley looks at him a moment and then folds his legs up, thighs bracketing Aziraphale’s hips, and it changes the angle enough that Aziraphale actually begins to slip inside.

“Oh,” he gasps, startled by both the sensation and by Crowley’s almost immediate _come on angel, please_.

So he keeps going. There’s a moment of resistance, at first, and Crowley makes a displeased noise, but after a deep breath and a bit of patience, he’s able to slide all the way in, slow and easy. Crowley makes another noise at that, and Aziraphale lifts up enough to take in his expression.

“All right?” he asks, doing his best to keep completely still.

Crowley makes a face, mouth pulling down thoughtfully. “Feels strange,” he says, wiggling his hips a little. Aziraphale fights not to gasp. “More unyielding than I expected,” he says, “but maybe kind of good, too.”

Then he squirms again.

This time Aziraphale can’t help the sound that escapes him, nor can he keep his hips from jerking forward.

“Hmm, that’s it,” Crowley says encouragingly, tugging at his shoulders. “Just need some motion.”

Aziraphale has, of course, _observed_ sex, but observing and participating are two very different things. He never anticipated the way pleasure seems cyclical, how hearing and seeing Crowley’s enjoyment only increases his own. How his body seems almost out of his control—but in a good way—moving and driving toward the sensation it seeks, toward fulfillment.

Fortunately, it seems Crowley is also gaining something from Aziraphale’s admittedly quick, desperate thrusts, body drawing tight in anticipation. His hand steals down between them to touch himself, and it only takes a few rough motions before he’s coming, clenching around Aziraphale.

Aziraphale manages to shudder to a near-halt, letting Crowley chase the dregs of his orgasm, but he can’t manage it for long. He’s aching with need, with pent-up desire, and his hips jolt forward of their own volition. It’s an urgent pace, one that has him burying his face in Crowley’s neck, trying to muffle the moans he’s making. It all just feels _too good_, like nothing he’s ever experienced before, and the fact that he’s experiencing it with Crowley only heightens the pleasure.

Crowley’s hands slide down to rest at his lower back, an encouraging pressure that helps Aziraphale let go completely. He’s not sure if he’s extended Crowley’s orgasm, or if he’s having another, but he’s suddenly tightening around Aziraphale again, back arching. And all at once Aziraphale’s release is _there_, and he thrusts deeply into Crowley as he comes. He trembles with it, every muscle tensing, then relaxes into Crowley, breathing hard.

They lay there for a while, sated and still entwined, before Crowley curls a hand around the back of Aziraphale’s neck and gets him to lift up enough to look at him.

“Angel,” he says very seriously. “Angel, we have got to do that again.”

“Of course, my dear,” Aziraphale says, stroking a thumb across Crowley’s cheek and feeling his love burning brightly in his chest. “Any time you like.”

He can see the trust and contentedness in those unguarded eyes, and tries to convince himself that, even if he never has Crowley’s love, this will be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I deliberated for a long time about putting that last line in, but I figure you can’t have 6000 years of pining, followed by sex, without a little angst too. I may write a sequel to this fic at some point. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr. These days I'm mostly reblogging Good Omens posts.


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